In Ego Vitae
by Victoria Hughes
Summary: [hiatus till nov.07] Enslaved by Death itself in payment for Sam's life, Danny is ordered to send Freakshow's soul on. But he fails, and now the Ringmaster is back again, with an entire afterlife ahead of him to make Danny's existance miserable.
1. In Mortem Iunxi

_For those looking for a new chapter of 'Coming Home', it's in the works: only a couple pages to go. In the meantime,have a__ 'Danny is a Grim Reaper' story. The idea has seized me and won't let go, dangit. Enjoy …_

**In Ego Vitae**

**Chapter 1: In Mortem Iunxi, In Mortem Scindamus**

The young man knew he was dying. It was oddly pain-free; he wasn't sure he could feel anything from his neck down, actually. He certainly couldn't move, but being pinned between a building and a car probably had that effect. Mostly he was panicking, a reflex reaction to being completely unable to breathe.

There was smoke and chaos and screaming, all a distant roar in the boy's ears, when a thin figure with stark white hair appeared, utterly calm. He was dressed in black from head to toe – gloves, pants, shirt, shoes, even his belts – topped off with a worn Neo-esque coat.

The dying young man didn't notice any of these things, although his eyes were drawn to the figure. It might have been the flashing silver scythe in his hands, though.

The figure walked right up to the dying man, his caste pale, and swung the scythe over his head once, then into the young man.

The first thing the man heard in his afterlife was the screaming silence.

"Better?" asked the Neo wannabe, pressing the scythe butt-first to the ground and leaning against it like a steady pillar. There was writing on the blade; the man read it absently. _Freedom and Redemption._

"Uh …" the young man got to his feet, glancing back at the slumped body crushed between wall and building. When he looked back, he realized he was actually taller than the kid with the scythe. "Did I just die?"

"Yep," confirmed the kid.

"Did you just kill me?"

"The car crash killed you," answered the kid, with the tone of long practice. "I just make sure it's done properly."

The young man stared at him. He coughed. "You know, the whole 'Matrix' look went out of style years ago."

The boy's mouth twitched. "Well, it was this or a cloak." He straightened, lifting his scythe again, and brought it down through the air. The young man found that somehow, he wasn't surprised when it looked like reality itself split in the middle, opening towards something either wonderful or horrible – the man couldn't tell what.

It occurred to him suddenly that he was looking at the Grim Reaper himself.

"Gregory Matthews, twenty-two years, two months, seventeen days," the boy said, waving his hand as if swatting something away from his forehead. "We are going to skip the ceremony because I have someplace else I need to be. So – un-live long and prosper, or something like that." He waved the young man towards the portal in space, and compelled, the man stepped through to a fate only known to himself.

The portal folded in on itself with a pop, the entire exchange unnoticed and unseen by the rest of the world. If Clockwork had the power to bend time, Reapers could bend space.

This particular reaper, however, panicked slightly. "I am so late," he groaned, whirling away from the accident scene. With a burst of power he flashed up into the sky, disappearing over the horizon.

&

In another town (although the same state), there were much happier tidings.

Samantha Manson, twenty-three years old, faced Tucker Foley, also twenty-three years old, closed her eyes, and let him kiss her – a chaste kiss, but it _was_ in front of an audience.

"It's Samantha Foley, now," Tucker teased when he drew back, and Sam thumped his chest even as her grandmother cheered 'Mazeltov!" and everyone else in the room (mostly people Sam didn't know, but she had to make allowances for her mother at some point if she wanted to have a traditional Jewish wedding) also cheered. After all, the wedding party had moved into the far more enjoyable reception portion of the hoopla, and they were on their third toast.

"I'm just glad the ceremony part is over. Now we get to be carried around on chairs for a while," Sam confided with a smirk.

"Are you serious?"

"I warned you about this months ago!" Sam rolled her eyes. She had agreed to wear white on the condition that she got to design the dress (nine years had somewhat mellowed out her Goth 'thing'; the statement was losing its impact thanks to Hot Topic stores), and she was dressed in a white corset top with long white gloves, a long multi-petticoat dress, and just to annoy her parents, white boots. Not that you could see them under the dress.

Tucker looked handsome in a tux. When he'd filled out, outgrowing the awkward stages of early adolescence, he'd managed to develop broad shoulders suddenly. Who would have guessed it? And the red beret had gone long ago, replaced with a favored black baseball cap when Tucker wasn't at work. Unsurprisingly, he was an IT guy.

Sam was headed towards a promising career as a spokesperson for PETA.

Sam took a deep breath, then, looking at Tucker. "All right, doing this," she said softly, raising her wine glass and standing. She and Tucker had promised each other this particular toast less than a month after getting engaged.

Everyone started to quiet upon seeing the standing bride. Sam cleared hear throat. "Thanks for coming, everyone," she started. "I have one last toast to make before the caterers go crazy trying to keep the food warm for all the talking.

"This toast isn't to Tuck, great as he is. Nor is it to anyone else that's here. It's to who isn't here." Sam took a deep breath and let it out, lifting the glass. "This is to you, Danny. We all miss you."

It was a sober toast as everyone drank, and Sam sat down, staring into her wine cup.

Tucker knew as well as she did that if Danny were still alive, this wedding would likely never have happened.

She still had no idea what had actually happened that night four years ago: she remembered being bitten by the huge poisonous ghost snake, but after that … she drew a blank. There had been pain, and then it had slowly ebbed, and when she woke up, Danny Fenton was on his back and cold to the touch.

Dead.

Sam and Tuck had spent months scouring the Ghost Zone for Danny Phantom, fully expecting that Danny would never let death get him down, that being already half-ghost would surely mean that dying was only a step onwards into full ghost. But Danny was gone. They never saw him.

"I really do miss him, Tuck," Sam said.

"I know, Sam," Tucker answered gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing gently.

It was around the time the entrees appeared that Sam suddenly had the feeling someone had turned up the air conditioning several degrees. Goosebumps rose on her arms. "Tucker, do you …?" she asked slowly.

"Hmm? Seems a little cold in here …" Tucker said.

"I'll go speak to the managers about the air conditioning," Mr. Foley said, leaving Sam and Tucker to listen to Mrs. Foley gush about how fantastic this was.

That was when Sam saw something she didn't expect to see.

Sam looked up from her carrots, and on the far wall was a figure with white hair and green eyes. He was dressed in black from head to toe. The figure looked young, as if he'd never quite escaped adolescence – but it only strengthened the resemblance.

Sam froze. "…. Danny …?"

Those green eyes swiveled towards her as if she'd shouted his name.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Tucker looked at Sam curiously, and Sam glanced over to him before looking back at where she could have sworn she saw Danny Phantom.

There was nothing.

"I'm … fine …" Sam said slowly, shaking her head.

"Ah, the room's temperature is improving. Dean must have talked to the super already," Mrs. Foley said cheerfully. "Sam, don't look so glum!"

Sam forced an overly cheerful smile for Mrs. Foley, and Tucker snickered. "Mom, she's a Goth. She doesn't do 'happy'."

Sam rolled her eyes, her smile settling into something more genuine. "Yeah, yeah … put a sock in it, Tucker. As if you could understand the subtleties of a dark culture."

_I'll tell him what I thought I saw later. _

&

So, they had gotten married. Danny studied the 'Just Married!' car in the parking lot, deep in thought and regret. There were days when Danny wished he hadn't made his choices quite the same way; why didn't he fight the Reaper that had come for Sam with more vigor? He'd been panicking, of course, and resorted to cheap movie tactics. _Stupid_, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. _A stupid trade._

Well, he'd made his bed and he'd lie in it.

He was sorry he'd missed the ceremony, as bittersweet as it was to see Sam marry Tucker. _I will never get over that_. _Ever. I am going to go around wondering what on earth happened for years. _As close as the three of them had been in high school, he would never have imagined them _together_.

And now he had something else to worry about. Sam had _seen _him.

Technically this was a breach of his contract. Sworn into this business, as it were, for another 184 years, six months, and thirteen days, Danny could see Sam as often as he wanted, as long as she never saw him. Most people couldn't see him – at least when he was on business: only the dead and dying, and those who had close encounters with Death (You've seen one Reaper, you'll see them all).

He felt a sudden, terrible chill, interrupting his thoughts.

Danny pushed back his coat sleeve on his right arm and began unwrapping the bandages around his forearm. Writing was burning into the skin on the inside of his forearm even as he watched, smoking slightly. Danny kept his fist clenched; it hurt, but it happened several times a day. It read:

_Fredrich Issak Showenhower_

_38 years 2 months 9 days_

Danny grit his teeth slightly. "Freakshow," he muttered.

What could have killed the ghost-controlling freak?

&

He needed no directions. For these things, flying wasn't necessary; he cut a swath in reality with his staff and stepped through it – right into a wall.

Danny bounced off of it with a sound of frustration. "What the …?"

He pressed his hand against the wall and got a crackle of static that made him wince. _Ghost Shield?_ No; something stronger …

He was standing in a white hallway that was empty except for himself; Danny went to the door of the room he was outside of, peering through the small window there. Freakshow was laying on his side on a bed in an otherwise perfectly white room, visibly twitching. _A heart attack? Epilepsy? Geez, what a snooze._

But it was a painful way to go out. Danny may have despised the man, but the faster he ended this, the better.

Danny attempted a short-range teleport into the room – and this time it reacted violently, throwing him back through the wall behind him. Danny sat up, dazed, in a room full of …

"Lydia?"

Indeed, the one ghost that had stood by Freakshow through everything – the Reality Gauntlet, the Gothica Circus in Amity – was in suspended animation inside a test tube. Danny didn't like her, but part of him grimaced at her fate. It was akin to being locked in a Fenton Thermos for all eternity (and there was only one ghost Danny wanted to see that fate). He looked back towards the wall he had been thrown through, then he looked around the room.

It screamed 'Guys in White'. Danny groaned to himself at the sight of all the ghost-dissecting equipment scattered around the room, feeling slightly ill. Why did he always get the hard assignments?

Oh, right. Because Death hated his guts.

Technically Danny couldn't be seen. But Guys in White had brushes with death more often than most people, which meant the risk of exposure was higher … and to top it off, it was apparently impossible to get to his quarry.

Danny's arm was beginning to hurt in earnest; it would continue to burn until he either sent Freakshow on, or failed, leaving him to become a ghost. _It would serve him right, but I really don't want anything added to my sentence, thanks. _He rewrapped his arm hastily and phased through the wall, floating through the building. There had to be a way to deactivate the shield around Freakshow's room.

Actually, come to think of it, why wasn't there a Ghost Shield this powerful around the entire Guys in White complex …?

"I've got him! Target acquired! Engaging according to protocol A, section C page 119 of the Third Edition of the Level Seven and Above Engagement Manual!"

A rocket fired.

Danny had frozen at the voice, but he yelped aloud at the sight of a missile streaking towards him. He went intangible –

And the missile detonated right about where his heart would have been if he had been tangible. Danny went tangible again but remained invisible, a cold fury settling in his stomach. A setup? Was this a freaking _setup?_

"No effect! Firing second cold-spot seeking missile!"

Danny flew away this time, snarling under his breath. How did they know he was still there?

The missile was making chase.

Danny looked over his shoulder to see the missile streaking at his heels. "Aaaugh! What the hell is this?" He zoomed up through the ceiling, and the missile shook the floor as he alighted on the next level. "That! Is! Not! Normal!"

"The spectral anomaly has escaped to the thirty-third floor!" This time Danny could see the Guy in White, his impeccably white suit almost glowing in the lights. "Engaging according to—"

"Oh, put a sock in it!" Danny snapped, firing off an ectoplasmic blast that sent the man flying. His fingers began to cramp; he was running out of time. There had to be a way into that room!

Danny dropped back through the floor, furious now, and fled back into the room where Lydia was. _A distraction. _"Sorry, Lydia, but I need you for this."

He found the controls to open the test tube she was floating in and engaged them; the liquid drained out, and Lydia's eyes slowly opened, glowing a deep, dark red. They focused on Danny even as the glass started to open, and a scowl materialized.

"Fredrich," she said.

It was the first word Danny had ever heard her utter. He swallowed hard. "He's going to become a ghost if I don't do something," he said flatly, glancing towards the door. "And you're going to keep the Guys in White busy."

Lydia's lips curled into a tight smile. It was not a friendly one.

The door banged open. "The ghost subject is no longer in containment! Repeat, the ghost subject is no longer in containment!" cried the man who flung open the door, even as GiWs began to flood the room. "Cold spots everywhere!"

Danny fled, no longer certain whether the Guys in White could see him or not. He slapped through several walls and screeched to a halt when he found himself face-to-face with another missile.

_Great_.

It slammed into his face and exploded.

Danny was flung down the hallway, bouncing several times across the floor and finally fetching up against, of all things, Freakshow's cell. He jerked away from the prickly wall, coughing in the smoke instinctively, although he no longer needed to breathe. There was chaos by this point; Lydia's tattoos had leapt to life and were harassing the Guys in White, who couldn't fully shout out their protocols with the annoyances.

"Cold spot near Freakshow's cell! Fire!"

Danny floated to his feet, summoning his scythe. He'd had about enough of this, protocol be damned.

He cut a swath in reality. The missiles streaking for him disappeared into the void, and Danny sealed it with wave of his hand. Alarms went off.

"_Ghost exceeding level 10. Ghost exceeding level 10."_

Well, Danny was the equivalent of a demi-god. "Time to act like it!" Danny growled. Somewhere around this box of a room was a power source or machine that controlled the ghost shield, and he was going to destroy it. He started to phase through the ceiling – when a hand grabbed his leg, jerking him back down.

It was Lydia. "Let him," she said.

Danny stared at her. "I can't," he answered, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling it away. "Sorry."

He popped through the ceiling – and banged his head on yet another ghost shield.

With a groan of pain, Danny clutched his head and floated carefully around and up. There it was – the generator, half-buried on the floor above Freakshow's and completely missed in Danny's haste to find a set of controls. Naturally, it was protected by … _drumroll please_, Danny thought … another ghost shield. He growled, his scythe bouncing off the shield in a flash of sparks. Smoke was starting to curl around the sleeve of his coat; Danny flung it off in frustration, revealing manacles attached to broken chains and bandaged arms. He glared at the words burning straight through the bandages. "I _know, _darn it! I know!"

"I have the cold spot in my sights! Firing!"

And suddenly, Danny had a flash of inspiration.

As the Guy in White that was apparently still on the thirty-third floor fired off his missile, Danny hunched over the generator, turning intangible again.

It exploded right over his heart – and right through the shield.

The Ghost Shield disappeared as the generator was shattered.

"Thank you!" Danny sang, dropping through the floor again and into Freakshow's cell.

The man was drooling and in his final death throes. Danny licked his lips. He might have been a fool, evil and cold, but no one deserved this.

"Goodbye, Freakshow."

He lifted his scythe.

He never saw the ectoplasmic blasts coming.

Danny was flung across the room and into the wall. He groaned, knocked senseless, and was hit again – and again—he phased through the wall instinctively and collapsed on his back. _Backup ectoplasmic guns. I forgot the government is all about redundancy._

His arm abruptly stopped burning.

If Danny's heart had still been beating, it would have stopped right then. He lifted his arm, staring at the fading lettering in horror, then up at the wall he had just phased through. There was a cry, a familiar, pained cry, and then Freakshow's ghost was careening through the wall, helped along by the very guns that had been meant to keep any ghost from coming to save him. He landed on Danny's chest, and the reaper grunted at the impact.

Freakshow floated off of Danny, whirling. His spectral form was weak, almost see-through. "What just happened?" he demanded. He looked at Danny. "Who are—oh. No, it can't be." He started to chuckle, then laugh. "Danny _Phantom?_ The pathetic half-ghost? You've had a costume change!" He took in the scythe in Danny's hand, and his laugh rose. "A _Grim Reaper?_ Oh, this is just too rich! Chained for all eternity to death!"

Danny's temper was starting to rise, but before he could issue a snappy retort, Lydia phased through the wall.

"Lydia!" cried Freakshow. "My dear. You're free."

She looked at him for a moment, then back to Danny.

"Thank you," she said.

"What are you thanking him for?" Freakshow snapped.

Danny pressed his hand to his forehead. "For letting you become a ghost, which I did not intend to do."

Freakshow stared at him. "A what?" He looked down at himself. "A _what?_"

Danny opened his mouth to explain, but the Guys in White were suddenly barging through the door, instantly creating chaos as they shouted protocols and edition numbers at each other furiously. Lydia grabbed Freakshow's hand and phased them both through the wall. Danny made to follow them –

But the ground swallowed him up before he could do so.

&

It was a quick descent, so to speak: the portal that had opened under Danny led straight to the Ghost Zone. In particular, it led to the lair of a ghost named Mortem.

Mortem was better known as Death.

Danny thudded to the ground with a grunt, the weight of the manacles around his wrists unbearably greater here. The light was low. Danny's eyes seemed to glow here, as did his entire form.

A dark shape, hooded and cloaked, materialized from the shadows.

"My dear Daniel," Mortem said. "You have some explaining to do."

_Tbc?_

_Theoretical translations:_

_In Ego Vitae: In Me, Life_

_In Mortem iunxi, In Mortem Scindamus: In death we united, In death we separated_

_Reviews are always appreciated; I'll do my best to reply to them in a timely manner!_


	2. Post Mortem

**Chapter 2: Post Mortem**

The nice thing about being rich was the opportunity to take a grand honeymoon to a nice place such as the Bahamas. While Tucker advocated this idea, Sam was less than enthusiastic.

"Tucker, I don't do beaches."

"Then what about Hawaii?"

"Same problem, Tuck!"

"Hmm … we could go hole up in a log cabin somewhere in Maine."

Sam laughed at this. "Cute, Tuck. How about just enjoying our home for a week or two?"

And this was what they decided to do.

Technically speaking, Tucker could have been a kept man and Sam could have never worked a day in her life and they still would have money left over in retirement to give to children and grandchildren, but neither were inclined in such a direction. So Tucker had taken two weeks off his cubicle job and Sam cancelled all speeches and meetings with PETA in the interest of just enjoying the relative mansion of a house Sam's parents had generously purchased for the newlyweds. Sam wanted to go to India for a month, but the trip was planned for late fall, some six months from now.

After the reception was over and the dancing was done, Tucker drove them to their fully furnished house. "I still can't believe we're going to live in a mansion," he commented.

"It's not really a mansion," Sam admonished. "Five bedrooms, two kitchens … it's big, but it's not a mansion."

"Compared to my apartment? Everything's a mansion," Tucker answered. He glanced over at Sam. "I love you."

"You love my money," Sam teased. Tucker made a face. "You know I'm joking. I love you too, Tuck."

Tucker's smile was very content, and they drove on in silence for a moment or two.

Sam's mind was still chewing on the matter of the vision she'd seen in the reception hall. Her feelings for Danny were never going to be properly settled, but to have them stirred up at a time like this … he had been gone, apparently _dead_ dead for just over four years now. How could he have suddenly reappeared?

If Danny was still 'alive', then Sam had the obligation to let Tucker know. They were still his best friends … as far as she knew.

_Then why didn't he appear before this? And why didn't he stay? Say hello? Say _anything? Sam was surprised to find herself getting angry with the specter, and she shook it off. Maybe she really had just been seeing things, but maybe she _hadn't._

"Tucker?"

"Yeah?"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I … I think I saw Danny."

Tucker stomped on the brakes a little too hard at the approaching red light, sending the car to a screeching halt. "Danny? Are you sure?" he asked, staring at Sam.

"No, I'm not sure! Which is why I said I _think_ I saw Danny! Drive carefully," Sam pleaded.

"Sorry." Tucker eased up to the stop light. "Why didn't you say something while we were still there?"

"Because I only saw him for a moment. Remember when the room got chilly? I looked up and I thought I saw him against the far wall, but when I looked away for a moment, he disappeared." Sam sighed. "I might have just been seeing things. Wishful thinking."

"You don't really believe that," Tucker observed.

"No, I don't," Sam agreed. She made a face as the light turned green. "I just don't understand why Danny would … you know, disappear for so long, only to reappear at, of all things, our wedding. Is he embarrassed because he's a full ghost or something? That doesn't even make sense!"

Tucker was silent for a moment. "Maybe he didn't gain a spectral form right away," he suggested. "I mean, just because he was Danny Phantom doesn't mean he was automatically going to become a full ghost, right? He might have taken years to coalesce."

Sam might have had the better grades between the two of them, but Tuck was just as smart as Sam – he was only lazier. He'd had a brief crush on Danny's older sister, and during that time he'd done a ridiculous amount of research on ghosts to help Jazz with her college thesis. If Tuck thought that ghosts could take years to reappear, then it was probably true. "Then why didn't he say 'hi'? If he didn't want to show himself to everyone else, why didn't he just wait until after the reception was over? I'm sure he knows we want to talk to him."

Tucker shrugged slightly. "We really can't deduce anything from such a short visit," he pointed out carefully. "He might not be the same Danny we knew, you know … if he's a full ghost …"

Tucker didn't have to continue. Ghosts were ghosts because they had something that kept them tied to the mortal plane, or so most ghost hunters believed. If something had kept Danny from passing on, there was a good chance he was as obsessive over whatever-it-was as the Box Ghost was with boxes. "I guess," Sam allowed, unhappy about it.

Tucker made a soft noise. "Well, we have two weeks with no obligations. No one said we had to spend it lounging around our house," he pointed out. "Want to go scour the Ghost Zone? If Danny's really back, I'd like to see him as much as you."

Sam blushed slightly. "Yeah. I … I'd really like to give him a piece of my mind."

Tucker actually laughed. "If he's been avoiding us? Me too," he agreed.

&

Tucker and Sam had no idea how far off the mark they were, but they had no way of knowing, and Danny had no way of telling them. Currently kneeling on the floor of Mortem's lair, Sam and Tucker were also the furthest thing from his mind.

"You know what happened," he said slowly to Mortem.

"Mm, yes, failed assignment. It happens to the best of us," Mortem observed. His form was completely hidden by the cloak he wore, but he brought up long, skeletal fingers, clicking them against each other. "However, I run a tight ship, and I'm obligated to do something that will remind you why failing is not an option. What do you recommend, Daniel?"

"I don't need a reminder," Danny answered through clenched teeth. "It was _Freakshow! _The last guy on earth I'd want around for eternity!" The man had been deathly serious about killing Danny's friends and family off nine years ago when he'd controlled the Reality Gauntlet, and Danny had never forgiven him. How could he? Ghosts were one thing; they were obsessive, not fully 'human', so to speak, if they had ever been human, but Freakshow was a fully human and very much alive psychopath.

It could only get worse with the stripping of his humanity.

Mortem regarded him coolly. "Indeed. Well, I suspect he'll be after you for the remainder of _your_ afterlife."

"You know what your problem is? You lack empathy," Danny said bitterly.

"Why should Death feel?" Mortem asked. "To make my job unbearably painful? You yourself may crack under the strain in the next century, although I certainly hope not. My offer still stands, Daniel."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Danny glared at his employer.

Mortem wasn't perturbed. "Let me know if your tune changes. In the meantime …" Mortem tapped his finger against his unseen chin under his hood. "You're really not going to be useful with Mr. Showenhower floating around. So." He leveled his finger at Danny. "Your next order of business: clean up your own mess." There was a flash of a skull's smile. "Send Freakshow on, however you may. Oh, and you may have guessed I've spoken to Clockwork recently."

Danny groaned. "Yes?" Since becoming a Reaper, Danny had discovered there were spirits that had never been human: Clockwork and Mortem were 'ghosts', but only in the sense that they were spectral. Like the Fright Knight, they were spirits that represented abstract ideas: Time, Death, and Halloween. However, unlike the Fright Knight, Time and Death were not human constructs. They were much more powerful than the Halloween ghost.

They were also old chums.

"Let's just say this: I'm willing to overlook your slip-up today at Samantha Manson's wedding."

_Darn it!_ "I was kind of hoping you didn't know about that."

"Daniel, as long as I've known Clockwork, you can safely say that I, too, know _everything._" Mortem chuckled, a chilling sound. "I'll let you off the usual work for fourteen days. If Fredrich isn't cleaned up by then, I suppose you'll have to make do, and I'll just keep you on board for another fifty years. Offers like yours just don't come as often as I'd like."

_Great. I'm still his favorite_, Danny thought. "Is that it?"

"That's it." Mortem waved a hand, and a portal opened under Danny's knees again. Danny yelped and was swallowed up.

"I'd recommend the stairs, but the elevator is so much faster!" Mortem called after him before the portal back to the human world closed up. He chuckled to himself, his face illuminated briefly in the green glow of the portal.

He was nothing but a skeleton.

"Let's hope Clockwork's faith in you isn't unfounded," he said, fading into the shadows.

&

Lydia had never been one for words.

When she had discovered that her master Freakshow was a ghost, she was secretly delighted. She did not know how many years she had spent trapped by the Guys in White – nor did she care. Time was beyond her consideration.

Time was measured by how long she could spend with Freakshow.

Although Freakshow had never admitted it, she had known for a long time that he wished to be a ghost. She saw it in his eyes – rampant jealousy and reluctant admiration. The discovery he could control ghosts with an ancient staff had … changed something, however. Those times were hazy in Lydia's mind. And when they had emerged on the other end, the staff destroyed, there was something new. Something a little crazy.

Lydia had not run like the others. She was loyal if nothing else. Freakshow was her master, and she would stand by him through thick and thin.

And now, he was a ghost.

Her master was confused, and he was loud about it. "How can I possibly be a ghost? That's preposterous. No Showenhower has ever become a ghost before!"

Lydia pulled Freakshow along by the arm, floating him down into a grove of trees some six hundred miles from the Guys in White complex. She shook her head at Freakshow, pressing a finger to her lips.

Freakshow's eyes were even more alight with something dangerous now. Lydia knew the effect time could have on humans, and perhaps she should have been more concerned; she did not know what had happened to her master while in the confines of his white prison. However, he quieted at her gesture. "Yes, Lydia, my only loyal partner?"

_Accept this. Please accept this._ Lydia clutched Freakshow by the hands. "We are … the same," she said.

Freakshow was silent, scowling.

"Accept it," Lydia urged. "It is strength."

She didn't like speaking. Lydia preferred that her actions speak for her. But her master was a man of many words. She only hoped he would hear as well as he spoke.

Freakshow studied her features for a long moment. Then he chuckled. Then he laughed. He threw his head back and laughed until he would have cried, if he had only had tears to cry. "Strength? _Strength?_ It's POWER, Lydia, pure and simple! Power!" His eyes gleamed. "And I know just what to do with it …"

He tried to fly and faltered, zooming past Lydia's head and half-burying himself in a tree as he went tangible halfway through it. "Ow!"

Lydia closed her eyes. "Practice first," she said gently, pulling her master from the tree.

&

Danny dropped back onto the human plane a mile above the ground. Immediately the symbolic manacles around his wrists became lighter, allowing him flight once again. He floated there, disoriented, for a long moment.

Then he let out a scream of frustration.

"I can't believe he offered that _again!_"

Mortem's 'offer' was to remove Danny's humanistic emotions. He had presented the offer for the first time upon Danny's entrance into his contract – to serve Death as a Reaper for twice the length of Sam's natural life, a fair trade since Danny was supposedly 'half-dead' upon his agreement. As Mortem presented it, the deal was optimal to Danny's mental health, since he would be unable to feel sympathy for a mother ripped from her child at his or her birth, a beloved sister dying of leukemia, or any other tragic soul passing from the world with regrets.

Danny had refused.

As he saw it, the sentence was not eternal, and he certainly didn't want to lose his love for his family or friends just to survive 188 years. He could do this. He'd managed to stick it out for four years so far, although not without more than his fair share of heartbreaking jobs.

He had yet to meet another Reaper who had refused the offer, however. It made his position very, very lonely.

After taking several deep, frustrated breaths – completely unnecessary, but nonetheless calming – Danny settled to dealing with the current problem.

He now had two weeks to find Freakshow, figure out what kept him tied to the mortal plane, and resolve it so that Freakshow could pass on.

Not everyone who Reapers failed to attend to became ghosts, but most of them did. Nearly every dying human had something they regretted or refused to let go of – whether it was a loved one, a grudge, a lifelong interest, or even a vacationing spot they had always dreamed of visiting but never had. If a Reaper was present at their death, their job was to literally sever the soul's connection to the human world, cutting through the ties to the body, the love and the grudges and the dreams, leaving the mere essence of the human. From there they passed on to things beyond Danny's understanding.

After death, of course, it only made sense that Death no longer had power over the soul. Unfortunately for Danny, this applied to Freakshow. He couldn't simply open a portal to whatever lay beyond Death and chuck his soul into it.

He had to do this the hard way.

Danny floated downwards, searching for landmarks he recognized. Once he'd gotten his bearings, he realized he was only a few miles from – of course – Amity Park. It might have been a clue as to where Freakshow was, but it probably wasn't. Mortem wasn't likely to be overly inclined to help Danny with this particular assignment; ideally Danny would fail to complete his business in the allotted time, since it would add fifty years to his sentence. As Mortem had observed, offers to become Reapers didn't come often, and he liked hanging onto his subjects as long as possible.

Danny wished violently that he actually had control over where his scythe sent him. But it was merely a tool of the trade; if he cut a hole open in reality now, it could drop him wherever Mortem wanted, and right now, that would probably be somewhere over China or someplace equally far away from wherever Freakshow was. It only did what he wanted when he was on official business, and this … wasn't exactly it. At least dealing with ghosts wasn't anywhere in his contract.

He had the sudden urge to look in on Sam and Tuck, but then he realized he really didn't have the time. Besides, by this time they'd be well on their way to wherever they were honeymooning. With a sigh of regret, Danny released a burst of ghostly power and shot off at top speed towards the south.

It was time to visit the Guys in White. Maybe they would have a clue where Freakshow's ghost would go.

_Tbc_

_With especial thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Bluemoonalto, thank you so much for your kind comments and expressed curiosity. I hope this chapter kept you intrigued._

_Replies are coming soon_


	3. Sui Legalis

_Thanks, everyone, for your patience, and an especially big thank you to Bluemoonalto for all her great advice and analysis. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

**Chapter 3: Sui Legalis**

"As you can clearly see, Freakshow has become a ghost," Agent M announced, pointing to the screen. The continuous 24-7 feed from Mr. Showenhower's room did indeed show the ghost of their long-time prisoner rising out of his body, then getting blasted out of the room by the ecto-guns. "This is a Level Beta Alert as designated by Regulation 3.7 subsection C, line 32."

"What about the level 10.7 ectoplasmic being that breached our premises at 5:23 PM?" Inquired M's partner, Agent 0.

The attack that evening had been no surprise, but the level of the ectoplasmic apparition had been startling. From empirical evidence, the GiW had theorized that there was some sort of ghostly dealings directly involved with death – cold spots around dying persons, primarily. Intending to use Showenhower as bait, the GiW had bided their time in aiding him – but the plan had backfired, terribly. The ghost they had hoped for had come, but none of the sensors had been able to pick up his signature until he was directly outside Freakshow's cell. And then, not even their cold-seeking missiles could put a dent in him. The ghost had remained invisible to all but a handful of agents, among them, M.

"Our encounter with Ghost X is the second encounter with a being exceeding level 10. His power is remarkable, much greater than we expected," M reported, using the letter that had been assigned to their target.

"Describe his appearance," Agent Q, M and 0's boss, ordered.

"Sir! Ghost X appeared as a white-haired, green-eyed ectoplasmic being with pale complexion! He wore all black, sir, and had manacles around his wrists. Most significant was his weapon – a scythe – which we believe to be a manifestation of ectoplasmic manipulation! It is unclear what it is used for, although at one point Ghost X swung the scythe and swallowed two of our missiles."

"Swallowed?" Agent Q questioned.

"I don't know how else to describe it, sir. One moment the missiles were streaking towards him, and then they were gone." Agent M shrugged.

"I see." Agent Q nodded. "Do we have a theory as to how Ghost X is able to cloak himself from the view of some agents but not others?"

"That has not yet been ascertained," Agent 0 answered. "We are questioning all agents that interacted with the ghost according to the Questioning Act of 1987, Section 8 Paragraph 3 Line 45 in search of similarities in experiences."

"Very good." Agent Q nodded. "And I see that there are no Cleanliness Breaches. See to it things remain that way."

"Sir," both agents responded dutifully.

"I expect cleanup to be finished by 0800 hours tomorrow morning! Is that clear?"

"Sir!"

"You're my best agents! Get on top of Ghost X ASAP," Agent Q snapped. "Consider this a Level Alpha Alert according to Regulation 3.7, subsection C, line 24!"

"Sir!" the agents responded, but they were drowned out by a disturbingly familiar alarm.

"_Ghost Exceeding Level 10. Ghost Exceeding Level 10."_

The three agents looked at each other before immediately going to suit up.

&

Danny, having been the son of ghost-hunting parents, was exceedingly familiar with the Theoretical Scale of Ectoplasmic Entities – 'Theoretical' because until his parents had opened the first Ghost Portal (and Vlad Masters had opened, not two weeks later, the second), there had been no ghosts to test the theory on. The Levels ran from 0 – zero being ghosts that could neither manipulate ectoplasm nor the physical plane - running all the way to 10 – ghosts that could shape ectoplasm at will (solid objects, blasts, and shields), duplicate their form, and directly interact with the world at large. The Box Ghost registered a 3.0 on the Scale – Danny had once checked – and Plasmius was probably a 9.5 or higher. There was no such thing as a ghost beyond level 10.

And then there had been Pariah Dark.

Pariah, while equipped with the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire, was enhanced to atomic proportions. Danny personally had no scale on which to measure the ghost, and he was only relieved that the combined might of most of the Usual Suspects, plus Vlad, plus the Fenton Suit had been enough to take the ghost down. At the time, Danny alone had registered a level 7 on the Scale. Just before Danny died, he had registered an 8.22.

Of course, there was no real scale for the ghosts that the human world rarely or never detected. Danny had never even thought of measuring the Ectoplasmic Entity level of Clockwork, for instance. If he had, he would have tilted the reading device. Clockwork, Mortem, and other such ghosts were never meant for such a thing.

However, Danny and other Reapers could do something far beyond the level expected by the Theoretical Scale: they could bend space. And even if Danny had been weak in every other respect, the Scale would have registered him above Level 10 for that reason alone.

Fortunately for Danny, this was not the case.

Having arrived back at the Guys in White headquarters, he floated thoughtfully for a long moment, trying to decide how to go about his infiltration. The direct approach hadn't gone so well last time, he reflected. What he needed was the files on Fredrick Issak Showenhower – anything that would give him a clue as to where Freakshow would have run to as a ghost. The rest would be … well, not a cinch, but Danny didn't need to see any files to know exactly what had made Freakshow a ghost.

_I'll eat my scythe if I don't know what Freakshow is obsessed with,_ Danny thought sourly. _He's finally gotten what he always wanted – he's a ghost. So how do I convince someone who always wanted to _be_ a ghost that he doesn't want to be a ghost any more? Especially after I went through all that trouble to make him succumb to Ghost Envy last time …_

Well, this certainly wasn't getting him anywhere. Danny sighed aloud, floating closer to the building. He could just barely perceive the ghost shield that surrounded the GiW HQ this time – and he recognized the design. Ironically, it was his parents'. (He was about ninety percent sure that the shield he'd encountered around Freakshow's cell had been from VladCo. It had Vlad's fingerprints all over it – and it probably was designed to let through one ghostly signature and one ghostly signature only – that of Vlad Plasmius.)

_Piece of cake, _Danny thought. His scythe was _made_ for this. He called it back into his hands and swung, tearing a brief hole through the energy. Turning his form into a wisp, he slipped through the hole before it could close up and reformed inside the GiW building.

There were instant alarms. _"Ghost exceeding Level 10. Ghost Exceeding Level 10._"

Danny smacked his face into his palm. "Last time _was_ a setup, wasn't it? And you think _Freakshow_'s a nutjob …" he muttered. He was out of practice with invisibility – he was almost never visible as a rule, anyway – but he flexed the atrophied muscle and shot down the hall at top speed. He needed to find the information, and fast – possibly as a matter of 'survival'. Although Danny couldn't die as a matter of course, if he was torn apart molecule by molecule, eventually he would be so disassembled that his form would have to slowly coalesce in the Ghost Zone, which would probably hurt, a lot, and for a long time.

Danny paused briefly to read a bulletin board, which pointed him three floors down to go to the Record Room. Slapping through floors, he hesitated again, looking for a sign.

And where were all the agents, anyway?

&

"There he is," Agent M announced, pointing to a blank spot on Security Camera 6 on Subfloor 2. "I told you he's here for Freakshow's records."

"Cold spot indicators show that Agent M is pointing to a clear molecular disturbance," reported one of the scrubs.

"In accordance with the Politeness Addendum (Section 1, Paragraph 2), I'm sorry for doubting you," Agent 0 sighed. "What made you think he had returned for information on Showenhower?"

"According to the files in Record Room 5, Shelf U, File 245.26B, under Unexplained Phenomena, cold spots appear only around those humans that do not become ghosts," Agent M explained. "However, Freakshow became a ghost. I believe Ghost X is trying to finish what he started."

"Not if we finish him first," Agent Q declared. "Ready, men?"

"Ready," announced his team.

And with that, they commenced to corner Ghost X on the Record Room floor.

&

Danny had to spend some time perusing the Record Rooms. "Like a true bureaucracy, nothing can be freaking simple," he groused, tossing some random files over his shoulder. Not only was the database _not_ computerized, it was also filed in an apparently random system. Nothing, nothing under 'S' (Showenhower), 'F' (Freakshow), 'R' (Reality Gauntlet), or 'G' (Gothica Circus)! And there were still at least 20 rooms to check.

Danny wasn't about to chalk up the lack of agents to lucky stars, either. Something was seriously up. Growling, Danny resisted the urge to knock over a shelf in pure frustration. Could the day get any worse?

"_Freeze_, ghost! You are in violation of the Specter-Free Zoning Act of 1999, Section 13 Paragraph 3 Line 345!"

"Apparently it can," Danny groaned, whipping around.

The door of the Record Room banged open, admitting at least twenty agents, all armed with whining ecto-guns and grenade launchers. Danny immediately flung himself towards the ceiling, not interested in fighting these goons again – only to bang his head on a by-now-familiar ghost shield.

"Ow!"

Danny clutched his head, seeing stars, and the next thing he knew a missile slammed into his chest. Sent flying and disoriented, Danny didn't even think to go intangible as he slammed into the shelves behind him, sending everything crashing to the floor in a wave of dust. Files fluttered to the floor, covering Danny entirely as he lay there, dazed.

_Danny Phantom, Grim Reaper. Death by papercut,_ he thought.

&

Agent M was, for some unknown reason, one of the few agents who could see this particular specter. However, the papers and folders covering his form gave the rare opportunity for his outline to be seen. Ghost X had clearly been shocked to discover that the Record Room he was in now had an activated Ghost Shield around it. "There's no escape, Specter! Quick, cover the area! I'll try the Prototype Revelation Device Version 7.8!"

The agents and scrubs all obeyed instantly, surrounding the ghost while he still lay there, and Agent M threw the Revelation Device. It was designed to force invisible ghosts to reveal themselves; with any luck, it would work on this ghost as well.

Smoke filled the room. It had no effect on the agents; it wasn't really smoke. It was more like an ectoplasmic tear gas. The ghost shot up out of the papers covering him, his green eyes squeezed shut as he seemed almost to cry, coughing dryly.

"I see him!" exclaimed one agent, and there were other cries of surprise and agreement.

"Throw the Shield!" shouted M. That was all the direction the agent in question needed; four cubes flew from the circle of agents and landed all around the ghost, creating a cube of ectoplasmic energy as strong as it was possible to make a portable Ghost Shield.

The Level 10 (or beyond!) ghost was effectively captured.

&

Danny hadn't cried in over four years.

Now, tears leaked from his eyes, something he hadn't even thought possible, and he coughed as if he had lungs to fill with air. Hacking and struggling, he wiped at his eyes with his forearm, blinking at the agents through the ghost shield that had been erected around him. They all had grenades and ecto-guns, and it was plainly obvious they could see him now. Danny wondered what had happened even as the smoke began to clear.

"In accordance with the Federal Anti-Ecto Control Act, Article 1, Subsection 8, you're under arrest," one of the agents declared.

Danny coughed weakly again, straightening as the worst of the effects wore away. He still felt weak and tired, but that would fade too, he figured. "Now where have I heard that before?" he managed, lips curling into a thin smirk as he recalled the words he had last heard during the Reality Gauntlet fiasco.

"Don't think for a moment you have room to mock us," the GiW warned. "We have you at a severe disadvantage."

"That's what you think," Danny muttered to himself. "All right," he said aloud, crossing his arms, his manacles clinking against each other. "So I'm guessing you have lots of really really _painful_ experiments to put me through, right?"

The agent raised one eyebrow. "We have questions, first," he replied.

"Great," Danny forced a grin. He wasn't stupid enough to put down his feet on the ghost shield, so he crossed his legs in midair. "And I've got questions for you, too. Why did you let Freakshow die?"

&

"Why did you let Freakshow die?"

Agent M was taken aback by the audacity of the trapped ghost. "That's strictly classified under—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, skip it," the ghost interrupted, waving a hand nonchalantly. His tattered coat hung almost to the edge of the ghost shield, but his legs were folded up under him as if he were sitting on air. "You and your regulations. You let him die to bait _me_, didn't you?"

Agent M's mouth worked for a moment. "A ghost styling himself the Grim Reaper? That's completely unacceptable."

The ghost stared at him for a moment, then clutched his sides and began to laugh.

"Styling …? Ahahaha! That's the best …"

Agent M scowled, reaching for the Ghost Shield controls irritably. He flicked a switch, and the Shield emitted a sudden, strong electromagnetic field. It had the desired effect; Ghost X cried out, then convulsed slightly, slowly recovering. "Tell me the truth. Have you been harvesting the souls of bodies for the last 176 years or longer?"

The ghost shook his head slightly as if to clear it, slowly lifting his head. He looked worn out, but determined – and still that smile lurked at the edges of his mouth. "Me, personally? No," he answered. "But I haven't been 'styling' anything." The ghost put out his hand, and the scythe from before materialized in it; he lifted his chin, unfolding his feet under himself. "And I don't have time for this."

He lifted the scythe and swung it, swathing through the shield like paper.

&

It had taken Danny less than a minute to figure out his prison was a good old-fashioned portable Ghost Shield a la FentonWorks style. Fortunately, it didn't stand up against his scythe. He'd been planning on milking the GiW for information while inside the portable prison, but changed his mind when he discovered the delightful little addition of electrocution.

He cut it open with his scythe to a chorus of "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Going intangible if not invisible – _that_ particular power seemed to have been disabled for the moment – Danny swung his scythe again, opening rifts into the nothingness of space that swallowed the projectiles thrown at him. Really, he was being more humane than he had to be; if he wasn't here, they would have been shooting each other from opposite sides of the circle.

The agent that had been questioning him looked shocked, but he quickly lifted his gun. Danny decided it was time to try out another little power he hadn't dealt with in years – he shot into the agent's body, overshadowing him.

Overshadowing was always odd. It was hard to move the unfamiliar body without somewhat melding with the host's mind – but unfortunately for the agent, this was exactly what Danny meant to do. He turned the agent's body and ran for the door. "Quick! He flew through me and out the door!"

The agents with him looked confused. One of them spoke up. "M, I'm registering high readings of ectoplasmic energy coming from you!"

_Crud._ "I must have been infected when he passed me," he lied lamely.

Frighteningly enough, the agent seemed to buy it."It's possible," the agent agreed.

_I can't believe he believes me! They're as gullible as my parents were – unfortunately. _"Go on ahead. I'll report this. He can't escape this floor until I deactivate the Ghost Shield," Danny said, businesslike.

"Right. Let's go, men! Find Ghost X!" the agent roared, and the Guys in White all filed by Danny.

Danny watched them go through M's eyes. "Sorry, big guy, but you're forcing me to do this the hard way," he apologized, before he delved into M's memories.

Fortunately, it wasn't deeply buried. Fredrick Issak Showenhower had been born in Pennsylvania, into a family of ghost researchers. He had lived in an old, old house – but that wasn't his favorite place, or his most hated place.

The place Freakshow had most often spoken of was Amity Park.

"Oh, go figure," Danny groaned. He slipped out of M's mind and lifted his arm, eying the controls. _Aha!_ He pressed the appropriate button, and the slight static-y feeling of the Ghost Shield under his feet faded away.

"Sweet, sweet freedom," Danny grinned, as he escaped M's body and left the GiW behind for (hopefully) ever.

_Tbc_

_Next Chapter: Freakshow has plans … and they involve Sam and Tucker! Danny had better hurry up …_


End file.
